I will never be unreasonable, ever! - The Devil's Desk with Old Nick

I have always admired reasonable people. They are generally pleasant company, rarely raise their voices in public and can be relied upon to say something sensible at precisely the moment everyone else has decided to lose their heads. I have spent centuries observing humanity, and I can assure you that reasonableness is a considerably rarer quality than most people imagine.

 

Naturally, I consider myself a reasonable fellow. I listen carefully, weigh the evidence and endeavour to see both sides of every question. I am also perfectly willing to admit when I am wrong, although I should mention that this has not yet become a pressing concern.

 

The difficulty with being reasonable is that the world does not always reward it. Certainty is more exciting than careful consideration, outrage attracts more attention than understanding, and a person who promises to solve every problem by teatime will generally outperform someone who explains why the problem is complicated. I have watched this happen in governments, boardrooms, family kitchens and more than a few church halls. The scenery changes, but the performance remains remarkably consistent.

 

I suspect the trouble begins with our understandable desire to make sense of things. The world is a bewildering place, and none of us enjoys feeling that we have lost our bearings. We want explanations, preferably ones that fit neatly into a sentence, and we want to believe that someone, somewhere, knows exactly what is going on. When such a person comes along and speaks with sufficient confidence, we are sometimes willing to overlook the small matter of whether they actually know anything at all.
I have found that a confident manner can accomplish an extraordinary amount. In my experience, a well-tailored suit and a firm handshake will get a fellow through several doors that ought to have remained closed. Add a few reassuring phrases about common sense and traditional values, and people may follow him halfway across the countryside before thinking to ask where he is taking them.

 

I mention this not to discourage trust. Trust is essential to a functioning community. We must be able to depend on our neighbours, believe that public servants are acting in good faith and accept that most people are doing their best with the information available to them. Without a measure of trust, every conversation becomes an interrogation and every disagreement a declaration of war. That is a miserable way to live.

 

Rather, I suggest that trust and thoughtfulness ought to travel together. We can give someone the benefit of the doubt without handing over our judgment, and we can listen respectfully without agreeing to everything we hear. A little healthy skepticism is not a sign of bitterness. Properly applied, it is a form of care.

 

This is particularly important at a time when so much of our public conversation seems designed to keep us angry. We are encouraged to see our fellow citizens as opponents, to regard every disagreement as evidence of bad character and to assume that anyone who questions our preferred solution must be working against us. There are people who profit from this atmosphere, and they are unlikely to encourage us to become more patient or charitable.

 

Anger has its uses. It can alert us to injustice, give us the courage to speak when silence would be easier and persuade us that something must change. But anger makes a dreadful permanent residence. A person who lives there long enough may eventually forget what peace feels like, and even a perfectly ordinary Tuesday can begin to look like an emergency.

 

I suppose that is why I have come to enjoy my new position in the newspaper business. There is something appealing about the small, daily concerns of a community: the projects people champion, the traditions they cherish, the ideas they debate over coffee and the peculiar passions that can occupy an otherwise sensible person for months on end. These things may seem insignificant beside the great affairs of the world, but they are part of what makes a place feel like home.

 

So, as you go about your week, be curious before you are certain, generous before you are judgmental and willing to reconsider a position when a better argument comes along. Take your responsibilities seriously, but do not take yourself quite so seriously that you lose the ability to laugh.

 

Also, if you happen to be considering a statuesque addition to the local landscape, I would encourage you to give the matter the same careful thought you would give any other important decision.

 

I am sure you will arrive at the right conclusion.

 

Say no to the Betty White statue! No! No! No! No! No way, Jack!!!!